


Loveliness like a shadow

by clear



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Additional Characters and tags to be added, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Gorgon!Oikawa, Lyrist!Suga, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear/pseuds/clear
Summary: There is a power to local stories that outshines all else.Words settled among one’s own trees and grass come alive in much sharper focus than those of distant places across seas or down rivers and plains. Entertaining though it may be to imagine faraway lands and the things that occurred there, the idea that the ground underfoot is teeming with legend fills the mind and soul with thoughts about what is truly possible.And here, inside the underbelly of a mountain visible from the highest point in the city, begins the tale of honeyed eyes trained to the sky that dare to gaze into the depths of a soul more petrified than its own legendary victims.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Loveliness like a shadow

**Author's Note:**

> _'Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown_   
>  _Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain_   
>  _Which humanize and harmonize the strain._

_“Kitharistes.”_

Koushi halts his hands—pick stilling, fingers at the back of his lyre touching the vibrating strings to halt the notes that echo through the small plaza. Brown eyes shift from a distant point of dreamy concentration down to the arc of boys seated before him as he seeks the source of voice that had called for him. A hand half-raised is his clue, and Koushi watches it fall sheepishly to the back of the boy’s neck as his brows knit in confusion.

He offers him an encouraging smile in return. “What is it, Tadashi?”

The boy’s other unoccupied hand runs across the pieces of papyrus spread before the six of them, and Koushi takes his moment of contemplation to take stock of the rest of his students. Only a couple seem exasperated at the interruption, but for the most part they simply look _bored_. The slump to their shoulders and the restless twitching of fingers against knees and stone belies a drowsiness that only comes with the stifling heat of the midday sun. Though they’re shielded from the worst of it beneath the linen awning stretched between poles and the wall behind them, the lack of any wind through this section of the plaza envelops their bodies in a heated stillness that sticks to skin like syrup.

“Could you start the verse over again?” Tadashi asks, exchanging looks with the boy across the arc that had been reciting along with Koushi before he interjected. “I got lost. Sorry.”

Even the other boy, Sou, looks slightly relieved as he blinks slowly and sits back on his hands, only glancing at the pages in front of him now that there’s a lapse in his attention. He’d been doing well through this passage, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be grateful for a break.

They had been working for a few hours now, dutifully trudging through discursive lineages to the lilting melodies of Koushi’s practiced fingers and leading voice. It’s now nearing the end of the day’s lesson, and Koushi can’t honestly blame them if they are losing focus—he probably would be too, if not for the fact that he was paid to be here and _teach_. The heat makes the day feel longer and more arduous than usual.

“Don’t worry about it,” Koushi answers as he sets his lyre in his lap and sweeps a hand up through his ashen hair. It had been falling into his eyes for the past ten minutes as he played. “Where did you lose me?”

Tadashi chews on his lower lip as he shuffles through the pages in front of him. Koushi takes the brief respite to drink from the cup sitting beside him, but it does little to soothe the strain in his throat and the fatigue weighing on his fingers. They’d begun a new section of _Theogony_ today, which always meant more discussions and instructions on his part rather than recitations. He doesn’t mind it—he wouldn’t have become a verse teacher if it _did_ —but one can only sing and play for so long on a day like this before their throat goes hoarse and parched and their fingers clumsy and slow against the lyre.

“Ah—” Koushi’s attention shifts back to Tadashi as the boy tucks a lock of dark hair behind his ear. He watches a bead of sweat curl down the other’s temple and feels the phantom brush of it on his own warm skin. He’s thankful he isn’t the only one suffering this heat. “—here. About Phorcys and Ceto’s children.”

He rights the instrument in his lap and retrieves his pick from beside him, recalling the phrases in his head and ghosting his fingers over the strings in progressions drawn from years of practice. “Got it. Why don’t you take this part from Sou?” After Tadashi’s shy-looking nod, he turns to take stock of the rest of his students. A small smile spreads on his face as he feels a pang of sympathy for them. They have all shifted from postures of rapt attention to various states of lounging in the past few hours, as though their bodies themselves are spring plants wilting in the burgeoning heat. Koushi lets it slide, as he often does. “We’ll recite a few lines, discuss it, and then dismiss a little early for the day. Sound good?”

The collective sigh of relief is the closest thing to a breeze that graces his class that day. He lets out a good-natured laugh before strumming an opening chord, and opens his mouth to sing.

* * *

_“Kooooushi!”_

He hears the name and the accompanying staccato of footfalls only a split-second before the full force of another body careens into him. Wiry arms wrap tight around his chest, and with the forced closeness, Koushi can feel the distinct shape of laughter in the way the other figure shakes against him. Despite the fact that he’s struggling to regain his footing in the fading daylight, he begins to laugh too, like the emotion can melt from the other to him as they are pressed chest-to-chest. He returns the hug more gently than the one he receives with a teasing pointedness.

“It’s good to see you, Yuu.”

 _“I’ll say!”_ Yuu shoots back as he pushes the two of them apart and holds Koushi at arm’s length by his elbows. His face is bright and wild as always, and the sunset sets his chocolate eyes and dark hair alight with ribbons of copper and gold. His brows knit together, conveying a slight pout and prying suspicion. “You haven’t been to see all of us in _ages_! What gives? Why’re you so busy all of a sudden? Did you get a girlfriend and forget to tell us about it?”

Koushi’s endeared smile and responding laugh does little to soothe Yuu’s disposition. In fact, it riles him up even _more_ , and Koushi is a little afraid the smaller man is about to pounce on him again before he’s halted by the appearance of a tall body appearing to the side of them.

“One question at a time, Yuu,” he says with a good-natured smile. Koushi’s eyes flit over Yuu’s shoulder as the shorter of the two whirls around bodily to smile at his other friends in tow—an extra five approaching at a more leisurely pace, a few of them outright laughing at the display. The one who had spoken, the tallest of the group, is the only one that appears abashed as he pipes up again, his mouth dropping into a concerned frown. “Don’t overwhelm him all at once!”

Koushi’s own smile widens into a grin at the concerned lilt to the other’s voice. “Come on, Asahi,” he interjects, raising an eyebrow with more severity than he felt. “Do you think I can’t take a little roughhousing?” A narrow of his eyes into a glare and a challenging lift of his chin. “Assuming I’m all soft now?”

Asahi’s face immediately blanches, his frown sliding two shades into a grimace. “No! Not at all, Koushi, I’m just saying Yuu shoul—”

“Should _what_ , Asahi?” Yuu inquires, easily falling in tandem with Koushi in his torment as he slings an arm up around his shoulders. “Last I checked, Daichi’s the only one qualified to be giving orders around here. The only one allowed to tell us what we should and shouldn’t do.”

Asahi runs a hand through his long hair, an action that easily conveys his _unease_ as he searches for a response that would placate them both. His eyes flit around from the two to the golden sky to the ground, as if he could pluck a suitable answer from the space around him. Before he can respond, however, another man at Asahi’s side pipes up.

“You said it yourself, Yuu,” he hums as he takes two steps toward Yuu and claps him on the shoulder. The shorter stiffens under the touch, like the black-haired man’s hand is cast in cold bronze and twice as heavy. All of them gathered know _that_ voice— _Captain_ Daichi’s deceptively light, calm tone—the one that promises nothing but trouble, though it’s more the disciplinary kind than the mischievous type young men usually revel in. “I’m qualified to give orders. So cut it out and let up on Asahi.”

Beside Yuu, who grovels out an apology, Koushi snickers behind his hand. He isn’t above sidestepping to safety when a verbal cuff isn’t directed at him.

The sound draws Daichi’s dark eyes over to him almost automatically. “That includes _you_ too, Koushi.”

“Does it?” he shoots back with a smile that is too broad to be completely innocuous. He stretches his arms above his head, as if reaching out as tall as he can emphasizes his freedom. “Last I checked, I’m a free man. I’m not in your lochos, so why should I answer to you?”

Though his tone was light and jovial, Koushi doesn’t miss the flicker that passes through Daichi’s and Asahi’s eyes as the joke falls flat between the group of them. He even catches the smiles faltering off the faces of Yuu and his usual partner-in-crime, Ryuu.

The way they all look as if they’d been ambushed causes in unnamable _something_ to rear up and _twist_ in Koushi’s chest. It reverberates behind his ribs and summons a phantom pain in his shoulder like the cue of a conductor. Like the order of a captain.

“Ah, well, just this once I’ll play nice,” he supplies breezily, as if the speed of the words leaving his mouth can shove the ones he’d already said from the space they all share. As if the quiet intensity of his dismissiveness can kill the thoughts he _knows_ are already taking shape, filling the spaces between them all and stifling the air again. “No need to worry about me.”

“Yeah, of course,” comes Daichi’s reply. Koushi catches the thread of _something_ in his voice, that makes it gravelly and reedy all at once. It’s easy to forgive the break in the middle of the captain’s words, because perhaps the six-year old memories that had broken free from his own chest and coalesced into fingers against his throat have found a new target. Because perhaps Koushi himself isn’t enough for the voraciousness of his own affliction, and now that he had given it an inch _it had devoured a mile_ , and is suddenly set on choking his friends, too.

“Good, because I’m just fine,” Koushi says, and if the tone of his voice is minced from being forced out through the invisible grip at his neck, none of his friends say a word. If they still know how to recognize when Koushi is lying when he hasn’t been a part of _this_ , of _them_ , for years, then perhaps they are better friends than he thought for allowing him to get away with it.

* * *

The sun is long gone now, having dipped below the horizon for her daily slumber and leaving Hemera to kiss her mother Nyx in passing through the sunset. Darkness blankets the landscape and stars glimmer overhead in tiny and immeasurable pinpricks of light. They remind Koushi of the airy linen awning over his teaching plaza, where sunlight slips through the loose-woven threads and dapples him and his students as they grapple and play with poetry, day in and day out. On certain days, when the air is just right and the sun is angled _just_ so, it can feel ethereal.

The previously-sweltering heat has abated some with the disappearance of the sun, and cool breezes began to waft through the air the nearer they drew to the sea. Though they can’t see it over the crest of hills to the west, the ground underfoot grows steadily looser and if the whole group is silent, they can hear the distant rhythm of the ocean buffeting the shore.

Here, a half-hour’s travel on foot from the city that occupied them more than the other way around, was where Yuu lived. He came from a family of fishermen, and when he had told Koushi as much all those years ago when they’d first met, Koushi had thought it made sense, to trade a fisherman a shield for his boat and invite him to the army with the promise that he could keep his spear in his hand. The only learning curve to speak of was the fact that the targets had lungs instead of gills and enemy colors on their bodies instead of scales.

He thinks, privately, that the rest of them have less glamorous stories. Despite the fact that it’s his _job_ to collect them, to set the past and the present alight with the curl of his tone and the tempo of his words, Koushi thinks that there are only so many versions of a farm boy legend he can sing about before his audience demands something else. Seven versions of that hero are gathered around this fire with him, perched on logs or sprawled on the ground after a good meal of meat and fish and bread; save for Yuu, who is currently goading Ryuu into finishing off the wine from the kylix they’ve been passing around. The black horses and figures painted around the sides of the vessel look like they’re moving in the flickering firelight, and Koushi recognizes it as an heirloom from Daichi’s family. He stifles a laugh when Ryuu lets the vessel drop to his side and Daichi leaps to his feet across the fire to bark out a sharp _“Be careful!”_

Despite the fact that there may not be anything too memorable about seven farm boys and a fisherman’s son, Koushi thinks he can still write songs of _these_ nights they share. The ones where they pool their earnings and build a fire on hills they _might_ be trespassing on. Where they roast meat and crisp bread over the flames, sitting close enough that the heat makes their skin prickle but the company is too good to mind. Where they steal drinking bowls from their families and pass them around the circle until they are loose and comfortable and the mixture of watered wine and honey lay thick and pleasant on their tongues.

These are the nights that make Koushi feel like he belongs again.

He feels a gentle nudge to his arm and he turns to meet soft almond eyes evaluating him with a gentle curiosity. Koushi sets his empty plate down beside his feet and accepts the kylix offered to him with hands that are easy and practiced, considering they’d been doing this for the past hour and a half. He makes out a circle of dancing dryads painted delicately at the bottom of the vessel as he tips his head back and swallows a few mouthfuls of wine. He is more careful than Ryuu as he passes it back.

“Thank you, Chikara,” he says, and watches the man in question take a long sip of his own before sending it around the circle in the opposite direction from Koushi. He turns back and offers a smile and a nod.

“How are your students, Kou?” Chikara asks, head turned and watching across the fire as Daichi _tries_ to be firm with Ryuu, but both of them end up taking long drinks from Daichi’s family kylix as Yuu refills it and shoves it back between them like a peace offering. His smile turns a bit wry and he cocks an eyebrow as he turns back to look at Koushi fully. “Are the elite families still paying well?”

“Well enough to keep me off the streets,” Koushi replies with a shrug. “I must be doing something right if they keep sending their children back to me. They’re doing well, though. They catch on quickly.”

“You should give yourself more credit,” Chikara insists with a theatrical puff of his chest. “These are _future diplomats_ and _aspiring mercantile emperors_ you’re teaching. You are molding _our future_ with your own hands, right before our very _eyes_!”

“Shut up,” Koushi chuckles, elbowing him in the side in an attempt to deflate his melodrama. “At least this group seems to be more interested than my last. Teaching poetry to boys that would rather be anywhere but in your lesson is worse than unbearable.”

Chikara presses his lips together in thought. “Would you rather teach Hesiod to a dozen smartass teen boys or do ten laps of Daichi’s training runs?”

The suggestions make Koushi snort, but he still pauses to seriously weigh his options. “Honestly? I’d take the drills,” he chuckles. “At least I can finish those in a day, no matter how much it may hurt. Hesiod takes _weeks_ , and if the students are bad, the parents are almost always _worse_.” His smile turns a bit sharp as he casts a sidelong glance back to him. “But remember you’re also speaking as though I wouldn’t have to deal with smartass teen boys if I was back with you and Daichi.”

“The new recruits aren’t so bad,” Chikara argues with a shrug. “Sure, Kei can egg Shouyo and Tobio on fairly well, but for the most part they—”

Koushi’s smile widens into something downright angelic. “I wasn’t talking about Shouyo, Tobio, _or_ Kei.”

“Oh, come off it,” the other says, but he’s wearing an amused grin of his own and his words have no bite—if anything, he sounds like he’s _agreeing_. His eyes have an easy shine to them as he tilts his head away and down and gazes into the fire. Koushi has always liked Chikara—he is easygoing, yet he works hard, and is one of the few people that have a hand on managing the chaos of Ryuu and Yuu spending _any_ stretch of time together.

Chikara’s quiet reservedness also makes him perceptive, able to read others better than most. This skill is a crook on the rare days when Koushi feels like he _wants_ to open up, and a flail on the many days when he feels like he can’t draw the shutters tight enough around himself.

“I still admire you, you know,” Chikara hedges, and Koushi resents his hesitation a little bit. He resents more that Chikara sensed he probably needed it. “You picked a harder job than any of us could dream of. And you picked it up so _quickly_ —it’s really incredible, honestly, how hard you worked to get to where you are now.”

It’s not what he expected. Instead of the awkward platitudes he’s used to from people that never really know what to say, his praise is quiet, but so sincere that it makes the tips of Koushi’s ears prickle with warmth. “It wasn’t too hard,” he deflects, and feels the walls inside himself come down a little. Maybe he can blame it on the wine. “What else was I supposed to do while I recovered? Sit around and feel sorry for myself?”

“That’s probably what any of us would’ve done,” the other replies, and Koushi tracks his eyes around the circle. “Probably would’ve drank too much and felt a little too bitter.”

He ignores the dark coil behind his ribs that wants to say that perhaps Chikara is wrong. Perhaps Koushi is still a little bitter.

“I’m just lucky to have found a teacher that was willing to take on someone in my situation,” he says instead.

“Yeah, you’re definitely a handful,” Chikara ribs with a wry grin. “He must have never-ending patience to put up with you day in and day out if you’re half as ornery to him as you are with us.”

That causes Koushi to laugh, warm and bubbling in his chest. “According to some, he’s worse than me, actually,” he admits. “I think the students were glad when they found out I replaced him as their teacher. I’ve heard the rumors that some people thought he’s a demon.”

“Oh? Then that’s lucky for you, I suppose,” the other agrees. They settle into a comfortable silence, the space between them filled with the chatter from others around them and the warm crackle of the fire, and it suddenly fills Koushi with a pang of nostalgia in his heart.

“Maybe it was the gods,” Chikara suddenly supplies, and Koushi is confused for a moment before he realizes they’re still talking about _him_ now. The way he is looking into the fire a few footsteps from them tells Koushi he was only joking a _little_. Chikara has always been a little more reverent than most, Koushi remembers. He’s always been the type to listen a little closer during military vigils and prayers, to show up a little earlier than most to sacrifices, feasts, and ceremonies. “Maybe they set this all up for you… Somehow. It never feels like you can tell whether they’re helping or playing games.”

“Maybe it was the gods,” Koushi repeats with a noncommittal laugh, and pretends like the words don’t cause his fingertips to tingle and the space between his ribs to suddenly feel too tight. Like his soul doesn’t grow two sizes too big for his body at the nameless anticipation that suddenly fills him.

 _“Kooouuu,”_ comes from across the fire, and Koushi looks up and meets Ryuu’s eyes, which are glazed over and shine faintly. Even Daichi beside him has a pleasant flush on his face, and Koushi realizes as he looks around the circle that the past hour has caught up to _all_ of them. Yuu fidgets as he leans against Asahi, and Hizashi and Kazuhito on Chikara’s other side are laughing boisterously as they eat leftover bread drizzled in stolen honey. Koushi begins to notice that his own head is buzzing pleasantly as an errant cool breeze caresses his warming face. Ryuu’s next words tumble out quickly, like he realized he’d forgotten to say them entirely. “You should play something.”

“I don’t work for free,” comes Koushi’s reply automatically, his words curling at the end with the lilt of his smug smile. An errant cackle erupts from his throat as he ducks to avoid the rabbit boneRyuu launches at him over the fire with a grunt.

 _“Stingy!”_ he bellows as he sits up with a glare. “Aren’t musicians supposed to be fun at parties?”

Koushi struggles to maintain an affronted glare as another laugh threatens to leave him. Once he’s under enough control to reply, he opens his mouth, but closes it immediately when Hisashi thrusts a kantharos into his hands over Chikara’s lap. Wine sloshes over the lip of the deep cup and runs down the backs of his fingers, deepening his pale skin with a rich red.

“Here, most _esteemed_ rhapsode,” he intones dramatically. “A gift from us, your _adoring_ audience. May it wet your throat and keep you _pleasant_.”

Koushi recognizes the barbed shape of the last word and snorts. He takes a few long drinks from the cup, _finishes_ it once he’s instigated by Yuu somewhere to his left, and sets it down to rinse his hands with Chikara’s canteen.

He grabs his lyre from where he’d carefully set it behind him and his hands shift into position without even thinking. His body still moves like someone else is in control as he practices a few strums along the strings with his plectrum, the notes reverberating through the air and wrapping him in a sense of comfort from the familiarity of the motion. He can’t really be sure it isn’t the wine anymore when he feels his skin prickle at Chikara’s words again.

Frankly, he’d be ashamed if any gods were in control of him now, moving his drunken limbs on strings at this young, ramshackle excuse of a symposium. But, he supposes with a glazed grin as he looks at all of his _mortal_ companions, if they _are_ listening right about now—why not praise them a little, too?

“I’m choosing this one for all of you delinquent drunkards,” he declares.

Asahi is affronted and quick to remind him that “ _You_ are included in that description, Koushi!”

“I know that,” he says, kicking his foot out to his left and jostling Asahi’s outstretched leg. “May Bacchus have mercy on all of us tomorrow morning.”

After another round of grumbled assents and a bold toast from a couple of them that _still_ want to toe their boundaries, Koushi feels his smile come easier and his fingers tingle pleasantly as he sings loud, melodic, and boisterous.

_The son of Zeus, Bacchus,_

_the liberator of mind, the Lyaeos, the Lyaeos, the Lyaeos_

_when he enters in our mind,_

When the others recognize the hymn, they jump in easily, calling the words back to Koushi as he leads them through the lilting melodic line.

_by making it drunk! making it drunk! making it drunk!_

Ryuu hauls Yuu up by his arm and the two begin to swing around in the fire, their singing transforming more into enthusiastic shouting that nonetheless causes Koushi to laugh on his next lines,

_he teaches me, he teaches me, he teaches me to dance_

The rest of them echo the same words back to him, swinging cups or their arms into the air.

_he teaches me, he teaches me, he teaches me to dance_

Koushi suddenly feels eighteen again, whooping and hollering into the night with this same squadron the night they were chosen as the city’s esteemed group of standing soldiers.

Though it’s only been six years, this tableau in his memory feels as historic as the memorized poems in his head. The past and the present meet in his brain, but refuse to fit together. It reminds Koushi of the frustrated mason laying stones in the plaza years ago, trying to make two pieces fit side-by-side that just _won’t_. The misshapen edges of rock had been as much an inevitability as the knowledge that people grow and age and _change_ simmering in the back of his subconscious.

The bodies around him are no longer as green and fresh and sparkling with youth as before; there is harder muscle, broader legs and shoulders, and scars on skin that dance with their owners. But the edges of their movements have a certain strength to them despite the clumsy cadence. Koushi knows that the confidence that makes them tumble over one another around open flame right _now_ is the same confidence that they carry into battle with them _later_ , as sure an accessory to their victories as the shields and spears on their backs.

Koushi recognizes that courage and strength, the smell and taste and feel of it, because he’s spent so many years watching it slip away from seams that have sealed on his skin but perhaps not in his heart. As he watches his friends sing and dance to the pace of his song, he thinks he can almost reach into the air and capture some of their self-assured exuberance for his own. He can almost imagine the way it feels between his fingers, existing mere feet before him for him to reach out and _take_ , to _reclaim_.

But instead of standing and extending his hand, Koushi resets his lyre and plays again, unsure if it is the gods or himself that makes this choice.

Unsure if this is all a blessing from the gods or the mortal result of an entertaining pastime.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and beginning verse taken from Percy Shelley's 1819 poem, ["On The Medusa of Leonardo da Vinci In the Florentine Gallery."](http://idlespeculations-terryprest.blogspot.com/2007/05/on-medusa-of-leonardo-da-vinci-in.html) The painting itself and this poem were some of the driving motivations of this piece as a whole! _*** IMPORTANT CW: (Please note that the painting is also displayed on the linked page as well, and is a mildly graphic depiction of the decapitated head of Medusa. Proceed with caution!)_
> 
> Verse sung by the Boys at their ramshackle symposium is Bacchus Teaches Me to Dance, which was a historical hymn with [a lovely reproduction in Assassin's Creed Odyssey](https://youtu.be/ZLVpOnEPxjw). :>
> 
> Also, I apologize for the historical inaccuracies, vagaries, and purposeful mish-mash that do and will exist in the context of this fic. I am merely an intently nerdy historical hobbyist, not a deep and studied Classics scholar (no matter how much I'd love to re-do college and make myself one), so all mistakes and liberties are my own! That said, if you have any thoughts, questions, or discussion points ABOUT the subject matter, I am 6000% all ears for it!!
> 
> — — —
> 
> Here's the thing.
> 
> This WIP has been sitting in my head, heart, and Docs for six months. It's the first HQ fic I ever started writing with my renewed interest in the fandom that began at the end of last/start of this year. :,) I am usually so loathe to post incomplete multi-chaptered works because frankly, I'm scared of not finishing them. (How other people manage it so masterfully, I don't think I will ever know. u all are the REALEST of MVPs on GOD!!!)
> 
> SO HERE is me, stepping way outside of my carefully-constructed comfort zone and posting this multi-chaptered work, in the hopes that it will revive my interest in the project and pin me with enough accountability to have it finished in due time. :,) I hope you all stick with me, and maybe enjoy the journey as much as I do! Wish me luck, maybe toss some prayers or incantations my way, because I feel like I will need them.
> 
> If you'd like to chat, you can find me on Twitter at: [@cherielimeade](https://twitter.com/cherielimeade)! Please feel free to drop me a line about anything and everything!!
> 
> And DOUBLE as always, thank you so so much for reading and for the time taken out of your day to spend with the things I drum up!! I truly appreciate forever and ever. :,) Have a great day, wherever you are! ♡♡♡


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